The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me
from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler,
and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested
to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion
that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew
such a personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked
old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim
Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me to death with some
exasperating reminiscence of him as long and as tedious as it should
be useless to me. If that was the design, it succeeded.

I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove
of the dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel's,
and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression
of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance.
He roused up, and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine
had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion
of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley--Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley,
a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time
a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell
me anything about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under
many obligations to him.

Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with
his chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monotonous narrative
which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned,
he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which
he tuned his initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest
suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative
there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which
showed me plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was
anything ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as
a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of
transcendent genius in finesse. I let him go on in his own way,
and never interrrupted him once.

``Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le--well, there was a feller here
once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49--or may
be it was the spring of '50--I don't recollect exactly, somehow,
though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I
remember the big flume warn't finished when he first come to the
camp; but any way, he was the curiosest man about always betting
on anything that turned up you ever see, if he could get anybody
to bet on the other side; and if he couldn't he'd change sides.
Any way that suited the other man would suit him--any way just
so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky,
uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He was always ready
and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned
but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and take ary side you please,
as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race, you'd find
him flush or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there was
a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet
on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there
was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would
fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar
to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter
about here, and so he was too, and a good man. If he even see a
straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it
would take him to get to--to wherever he was going to, and if you
took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what
he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on
the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell
you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him--he'd
bet on any thing--the dangdest feller. Parson Walker's wife
laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they
warn't going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley
up and asked him how she was, and he said she was considable better--thank
the Lord for his inf'nit mercy--and coming on so smart that with
the blessing of Prov'dence she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before
he thought says, ``Well, I'll resk two-and-a-half she don't anyway.''

Thish-yer Smiley had a mare--the boys called her the fifteen-minute
nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because of course she
was faster than that--and he used to win money on that horse, for
all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper,
or the consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give
her two or three hundred yards' start, and then pass her under
way; but always at the fag-end of the race she'd get excited and
desperate-like, and come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering
her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out
to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and
raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing
her nose--and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck
ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.

And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd think
he warn't worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay
for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on
him he was a different dog; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out
like the fo'castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover
and shine like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him and bully-rag
him, and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three
times, and Andrew Jackson--which was the name of the pup--Andrew
Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn't
expected nothing else--and the bets being doubled and doubled on
the other side all the time, till the money was all up; and then
all of a sudden he would grab that other dog just by the j'int
of his hind leg and freeze to it--not chaw, you understand, but
only just grip and hang on till they throwed up the sponge, if it
was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he
harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because they'd
been sawed off in a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along
far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch
for his pet holt, he see in a minute how he's been imposed on,
and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared
surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't
try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He
give Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and
it was his fault, for putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs
for him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight,
and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a
good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for
hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius--I
know it, because he hadn't no opportunities to speak of, and it
don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he
could under them circumstances if he hadn't no talent. It always
makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and
the way it turned out.

Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and
tomcats and all them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and
you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you.
He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'lated
to educate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but
set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you
he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and
the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a
doughnut--see him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he
got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like
a cat. He got him up so in the matter of ketching flies, and kep'
him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time as
fur as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education,
and he could do 'most anything--and I believe him. Why, I've seen
him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor--Dan'l Webster was
the name of the frog--and sing out, ``Flies, Dan'l, flies!'' and
quicker'n you could wink he'd spring straight up and snake a fly
off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag'in as solid
as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with
his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doin'
any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and
straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it
come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get
over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you
ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand;
and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as
long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and
well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres,
all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.

Well, Smiley kep't the beast in a little lattice box, and he used
to fetch him down town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller--a
stranger in the camp, he was--come acrost him with his box, and
says:

``What might it be that you've got in the box?''

And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, ``It might be a parrot,
or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't--it's only just a
frog.''

And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it
round this way and that, and says, ``H'm--so 'tis. Well, what's
he good for?''

``Well,'' Smiley says, easy and careless, ``he's good enough for
one thing, I should judge--he can outjump any frog in Calaveras
county.''

The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular
look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, ``Well,''
he says, ``I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n
any other frog.''

``Maybe you don't,'' Smiley says. ``Maybe you understand frogs
and maybe you don't understand 'em; maybe you've had experience,
and maybe you ain't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got
my opinion and I'll resk forty dollars that he can outjump any
frog in Calaveras county.''

And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like,
``Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no frog; but
if I had a frog, I'd bet you.''

And then Smiley says, ``That's all right--that's all right--if
you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog.'' And
so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along
with Smiley's, and set down to wait.

So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself,
and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took
a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot--filled him pretty
near up to his chin--and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to
the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally
he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller,
and says:

``Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his forepaws
just even with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word.'' Then he says,
``One--two--three-git!'' and him and the feller touched up the
frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively, but Dan'l
give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders--so--like a Frenchman,
but it warn't no use--he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid
as a church, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored
out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too,
but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course.

The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going
out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder--so--at
Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, ``Well,'' he says, ``I
don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other
frog.''

Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a
long time, and at last he says, ``I do wonder what in the nation
that frog throw'd off for--I wonder if there ain't something the
matter with him--he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow.'' And
he ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says,
``Why blame my cats if he don't weigh five pound!'' and turned him
upside down and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then
he see how it was, and he was the maddest man--he set the frog
down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him.
And----''

[Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard,
and got up to see what was wanted.]  And turning to me as he moved
away, he said: ``Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy--I
ain't going to be gone a second.''

But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the
history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely
to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W.
Smiley, and so I started away.

At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he button-holed
me and recommenced:

``Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller one-eyed cow that didn't
have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and----''

However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear
about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.